


Picnic At Hanging Rock

by Laauuurra1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Missing Persons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 02:42:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19039531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laauuurra1/pseuds/Laauuurra1
Summary: The day they left for hanging rock, the girls never returned.





	1. Arya I

**Author's Note:**

> I loved last years series of Picnic At Hanging Rock, and have been wanting to create a Game of Thrones fanfiction based around it. Natalie Dormer was so brilliant, and I couldn't get the idea out of my mind.

The day the watches stopped, the girls never returned. 

The 14th February 1900 began like any other at Kings Landing Preparatory; huddled in their shared dormitory Ladies Sansa and Margaery sat, their cupped hands whispering girlish fantasies and hopes and dreams. Had this been yesterday, Lady Arya would snort at the sight, a habit their dorm mistress, Ms Mordane, would berate her for. But secretly, a small part inside her was fluttering. She longed for the freedom ripped away for her, being shipped off with her sister to the other side of Westeros, and today, she would have a glimpse back into that life.  
Her heart often fluttered at the memories of riding through the weirwoods with Bran, never failing to be first to the largest, towering ruby tree, (though he would always claim she had the faster horse). Of shooting arrow after arrow with Robb, the soft feathers tickling the tips of her fingers upon release, the joy she felt when striking her first bullseye, only to see her father beaming proudly down to her. Father, seemingly the only person who truly understood her. She remembered how she had weeped upon their seperation, and despite his firm features, a watery pain glazed his eyes. 

A familiar bell snapped her from her trance. Sansa and Margaery standing up with the grace of the swans who swam in the nearby lake, their freshly ironed pinafores swished at their ankles. Arya looked down at herself, her mother and Ms Mordane's voices ringing in her ears upon seeing the mess her dress was in. 'Why cant you be more like your sister' was her mother's favourite phrase these days. However, upon inspection she almost found herself agreeing. Muddy and ripped from her almost nightly ventures out the window, down the rusted drainpipe and into the white rose bush Sansa had swoon upon seeing for the first time. No doubt imagining a brave prince outside calling to her, rose in hand. Thorns would prod her sides, like claws pulling her back from the outside, but it was the only thing in this miserable place that made her feel alive. Until today. 

Her hair was usually not unlike a birds nest, but after hours of begging Sansa had convinced Arya to let her slick it back into a tight ponytail, braids emerging from the hair behind her ears and tucked behind the soft green ribbon. Arya had to admit it looked lovely, perhaps currently the only lady like thing about her appearance, but she knew Lady Cersei Lannister, Ms Lannister to those tutoring in her school, would approve. How dreadful it would be to miss out on such an event, perhaps a once in a life time trip to Storms End's famous Hanging Rock. The stories that came from the visitors were magnificent, differing from the large cliff overlooking miles upon miles of tranquil ocean, and the rock teaming with mythological creatures: unicorns, faeries and nymphs. All the way to wild whirlpools beckoning visitors to be sucked in, sharp daggers of rock protruding from the earth surely waiting to spear the unfortunate soul who lost their footing. Arya would give anything to know the truth. Racing down the stairwell she skidded to a halt at the back of newly forming line, a small smile of apology towards Jeyne Poole, the girl she had almost collided with, graced her face, after a scowl appeared on the girl's. 

'Girls' Mrs Lannister's voice cut sharply through muttering of excitement. 'I put my full trust in you to stay polite, courteous and contained whilst on this outing, Ms Mordane, Shae' (A sweet Lorathi teacher) 'And Ms Eglantine will be your company, you will obey them in my absence.' She eyed Arya upon this comment, her reputation for disobedience was well known. 'That will be all'  
Mrs Lannister stepped away, revealing their transportation, two gorgeous sand steeds stood to attention, the carriage of gold and silver attached firmly to their backs, 'only the best for my girls' she thought in Cersei's snooty voice, pulling a tight lipped face. Begrudgingly Arya pulled a tight bonnet over her head, feeling the warm sun's rays glinting on her pale, exposed wrists. With the other girls still mesmerised by the carriage, she stormed her way to the front where the footman stood, an open door in his hand. Itching to get going she clambered in, thanking the towering man quietly before stalking to the front, desperately wanted to be nearest the beauties that would be pulling them along. How she longed to be on their back like old times. 

But that was then. And this was now.


	2. Sansa I

The day the lightning froze mid-air, the girls never returned.

A quick glance at her sister’s face was enough to tell Sansa she was plotting. Arya sat directly across from her, and every subtle nod, shake and scrunched nose were the pieces falling into place. Sat with the difficult decision of either giving Arya a piece of her mind or saying nothing and letting her get what was coming. Fellow classmates surrounding her sat in silence, watching the countryside pass them by, waving to the odd farmer, and little Lyanna Mormont clapping with glee upon a field filled with sheep. Sansa, feeling far more empathetic to the others than her own sister, crossed her legs, clasped her hands together and promptly decided it was a problem for the future. She couldn't disturb everyone's peace and drag them into whatever pathetic plot her sister was up to this time. 'The teachers can deal with it' she thought, sticking her pointed nose in the air. She was going to enjoy this whether it killed her. Or her sister.

Margaery looked as elegant as ever, even with her eyes closed, head rested on the top of the seat, mouth open and breathing heavily. Sansa even thought she could hear a light snoring, which Margaery would of course deny upon waking. A smile full of warmth appeared on her face. Seemingly in bliss, Sansa could not fight off her sudden urge, her eyes felt heavy, lids unwillingly drawn down as if tugged by a string. She gave in quickly, never one to put up a fight, and her breaths deepened with her joy still etched on her features. 

Sansa did not dream. Well, her days were filled with wonder, images of dancing with her knight, evening gowns of light silk, and swaddling her children by the glowing fire. But Sansa did not dream whilst sleeping. This time she did. Margaery's soft fingers sent chills up her spine and she nimbly laced the corset of her flowered gown, an endless amount of golden roses cascaded down from her midriff, dressed in her closest friend's house sigil, this felt right. Margaery was the embodiment of a rose: Her stem soft and fragile, but her thorns put up a fight. Few would see past her petals, her beauty standing out from the rest. Brick coloured hair took the place of flames, Margaery led their steps in the ballroom, bodice pressed tightly against bodice, their usually sophisticated movement now fumbled with nerves. Red hot flushes on either brow, learning forward allowing their noses to touch, Margaery's subtle lips whispered her name. 'Sansa' 'Sansa' 'Sansa'

A sharp prod to the side jolted Sansa out of her dream, as her eyes adjusted to the light she found her bearings. 'SANSA' a menacing voice came from beside her head.  
'We have arrived' said a much calmer, loving vocalization of the incoming 'GET UP’ that she now realised to be coming from her sister. An impatient stamp of the foot as Sansa smoothed her crinkled dress only convinced her to drop her speed further, and re-adjusted her now lopsided bonnet took longer than it ever had before. A calloused hand adorned in red sleeves reached for hers, helping her delicately off the step and onto the cobbled footpath. It was difficult, only visible with an uncomfortable crane of the neck, but it was there. An ominous jagged rock leaning into nothing, jutting out into the fog looming above. A thrill of excitement, or perhaps nerves, filled her stomach.  
Whatever Arya was planning, Sansa wanted in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proper had a mid life crisis because I was so sure TV Margaery's hair was auburn, but now I can't tell, just needed to explain the brick red part because a lot of people say its brown like in the books.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading chapter two! I'm hoping to publish a chapter a day, but school is obviously a priority so no promises 😂


End file.
